The Cucquean's Contract

Last night, I cried myself to sleep. It's now Sunday, and I feel only a little better when I see the extra ten thousand dollars in my bank account. Being used as a fuck-toy once a week may not seem so bad, but I don't know if I can endure such degradation every week for months on end.

I'm sitting up on my bed with my back resting against the headboard wearing headphones while The Tortured Poets Department fills my ears. I'm only wearing an over-sized T-shirt, leaving my legs bare and covered in goosebumps while I wiggle my red-painted toes.

Above all, I'm trying my best not to think about my pseudo-benefactors. The Walgrens seem to be just a pair of married sadists, Steven Walgren certainly is, but Gina is more of an enigma. She seems to find me endearing somehow, or maybe she just wants me to know my place.

Don't worry, bitch. I have no interest in stealing your man.

My gaze keeps wandering back to the framed diploma hanging on the wall, inviting me to think about my future. I have twenty eight more weeks as a plaything for a pair of rich perverts who want to spice up their marriage; but what should I do once I've paid off all my student debt?

Honestly, it's back to square one: find a job that requires or benefits from a sociology degree or the skills I acquired while studying for it. I'm obviously not going to add my time with the Walgrens to my CV, but how will I explain the thirty-week gap in my work experience?

Maybe I could apply for a job at Mr. Walgren's investment firm. Statistics and calculus were each part of my degree program, and I got excellent grades in both, so surely that's transferable to finance. Besides, if I'm a good girl for the next 28 weekends, maybe the Walgrens will look favorably on my application. It'd be nice to get a job I actually applied to for once.

Thinking of the Walgrens draws my mind back to Mr. Walgren in particular. Not the beast who force-fucked me in front of his wife, but the slick gentleman who seduced me at the hotel bar.

The next song starts playing and I pull up the hem of my T-shirt to expose my naked pussy. I close my eyes and immerse myself in the memory of being approached by Mr. Walgren at the bar while Guilty as Sin plays in my headphones. I slide my fingers over my shaved crotch until they reach the folds of my womanhood and touch my clitoris.

A silent gasp escapes my lips as my half-remembered, half-imagined version of Mr. Walgren invites me up to his room and undresses me before undressing himself. Whatever else I might want to say about his true character, I can't dispute how good his body looks and feels.

I dip a finger inside myself and savor my wetness, then I slide my fingers across my entrance and back over my clitoris. I use my memories from that night to fuel my imagination, picturing Mr. Walgren on top of me, his muscular chest bared for me the same way he made me bare my breasts for him. His cock is inside my pussy, penetrating me with forceful yet rhythmic thrusts.

I spread my thighs a little wider as the song's refrain reaches its climax, carrying me closer to mine. Gina Walgren's face keeps intruding into my fantasy about her husband, so I picture her in the corner watching as her husband fucks me harder and faster. She's naked, too, baring her own buxom boobs to show off how much womanlier she is compared to me.

That's what I imagine she wants to do. She told me herself she can't stop her husband fucking other women. That means the best she can do is to remind those women that being penetrated by her husband doesn't mean he prefers them over her.

The imaginary version of Steven Walgren fucks me harder, his climax approaching fast while his sweaty muscles slide and glide across my smooth belly. The incipient pleasure blooming in my crotch is making my breathing heavy and causing little moans to escape my lips. I'm going to cum before this song is over, and I rub my clit frenetically to make it happen.

I achieve an orgasm, moaning shamelessly as I buck my hips. I imagine Mr. Walgren thrusting his cock balls-deep inside me and cumming hard. My own juices flow from my pussy and soak my fingers as well as the sheets, my climax filling my crotch and belly with pleasure.

Finally, the orgasm subsides, and I sigh with satisfaction as the next song starts to play.

I still hate Steven Walgren for the way he's treated me, and I should probably feel bad about fantasizing about him, but I don't. Even so, although I have the rest of the week to relax, I know that next Saturday will be the real thing all over again, and I'm already dreading it.

***

In addition to the ten thousand dollars the Walgrens pay me each week to be their sex-pet, it would be nice if they also reimbursed me for the cost of gas to drive to and from their house, but that's a trivial gripe when they're helping me pay off my mountain of student debt.

I arrive at 11am sharp, just as Gina instructed me in her text, wearing denim shorts and a black T-shirt with ankle socks and sneakers. Apparently, they had another outfit prepared for me, and my heart is pounding with apprehension about what costume they'll make me wear this time.

Gina greets me at the door wearing a deep plunge midi dress in black, exposing her cleavage almost down to her navel. Her hair is all done up with side-swept waves and bright-red lipstick along with dark eyeshadow. She looks like she's about to host a cocktail party, and she invites me inside like I'm just another guest before leading me up to the master bedroom.

"How was the drive over?" She sounds so pleasant you'd think she actually likes me.

"Pretty smooth, not too much traffic." I can hear my blood pumping in my ears as we ascend the steps. "Though I guess there wouldn't be on a weekend."

"Do you have far to travel?"

"It's about an hour's drive if the traffic's good."

We reach the top of the landing and Gina ushers me into the enormous master bedroom. I notice the dress laid out on the king-size bed immediately thanks to its bright red color. Next to it is a set of black panties made from sheer material to make it see through, but no bra.

As I approach the bed and see what kind of dress it is, a groan escapes my lips.

"Don't you like it?" Gina asks me innocently, as if I have a choice in wearing it. "I think you'll look delicious in that cheongsam."

"Please don't talk about me like a piece of sushi," I say with resignation.

"Don't you mean kimchi?" Gina asks with a smirk.

"Fuck you."

"That's Steven's job, not yours."

I glower at my hostess before glancing at my outfit for the day. Once again, the only other thing to say is that I signed the contract, and if the bitch reminds of that again, I'll smack her.

"Well, I'll leave you to get changed," Gina says as she heads towards the door, "but your hair will need to be done up. Give me a shout when you're ready."

She departs and closes the door behind her, leaving me alone in the spacious bedroom, gazing around at the carpeted floor and the carved wooden furniture lining the walls. The bed is huge, and yet it only takes up one end of the bedroom, and the more time I waste just standing here, the less patience the Walgrens will have.

I remove my sneakers and socks, stuffing the socks inside my shoes and placing them at the foot of the bed. Then I take off my T-shirt and unzip my shorts, tugging them down my legs. I unhook my bra and remove my cotton panties. Once I've folded my clothes and placed them on the bed, I turn to the cheongsam and sexy black panties I'm expected to wear.

I slip the panties on first and then pick up the cheongsam. Holding it against my body, I notice that its actually a proper cheongsam reaching down to my ankles rather than one of those sexy versions that exposes the legs. However, it does have a thigh split that reaches the hip; actually, two thigh splits, one on each side as well as an oval-shaped cutout for my cleavage.

I'm already cringing at the idea of wearing this thing, but I have no choice.

It's surprisingly easy to put on, and once its on my body, all I have to do is secure the top button around my neck. The strappy heels are simple enough to put on, and that just leaves my hair, which Gina probably wants done up in some kind of oriental style.

Rather than call out, I strut over to the door and open it, poking my head through. Gina is there waiting, and she reenters the bedroom and makes me sit in front of the dresser.

"You look gorgeous apart from your messy hair," Gina remarks, brandishing a hairbrush like a weapon, "but we're gonna fix that."

***

Gina Walgren turns out to be an expert hairstylist, and my hair is soon done up in a Chinese-style double bun. I do my own makeup using her products, and by lunchtime I resemble a true oriental beauty. I know what the Walgrens are doing, and they clearly know what they're doing by making me look like this. I don't know whether to admire my reflection or cringe at it.

Gina then escorts me out of the bedroom and downstairs to the dining room. My breath seizes up as I experience some uncomfortable flashbacks about what happened last Saturday, but my next ten-thousand-dollar payment is riding on my ability to grit my teeth and endure.

Steven Walgren is already there waiting for us, dressed in his usual business suit, and reclining casually in his chair. He greets both of us with a welcoming smile before it widens into a grin at the sight of the young Asian woman dressed in a cheongsam. His eyes linger on the cutout exposing my cleavage, and I clasp my hands together to resist the urge to cover myself.

Lunch has already been served, and I grimace at the sight of the sumptuous Asian cuisine laid out on the table. The assortment of sushi, noodles, and rice looks delicious, but the Asian theme of this Saturday's meetup feels a little on the nose. They've even changed the tablecloth to one with an oriental design to complete the aesthetic.

Gina approaches her still-seated husband and bends over to give him a kiss on the lips. "I hope you like what I did with her hair and clothes," she says with a delighted smile.

"She looks absolutely ravishing, and I'm feeling ravenous," Steven answers appreciatively, his gaze flitting between his wife's face and my breasts, "but first, let's have lunch."

Gina and I take our seats, and the three of us help ourselves to the food. Each place setting has a spoon and a set of chopsticks, but in keeping with the theme, there are no knives or forks. It's easy enough for me to serve myself, but I struggle to get the hang of the chopsticks, much to the amusement of my hosts.

The Walgrens are experts with their chopsticks, and are already half finished with their meals by the time I've figured out how to use mine effectively. Steven helps himself to more food while Gina sits back and waits patiently for us to finish.

Not a word is exchanged between the three of us throughout the whole meal.

Finally, I manage to finish my lunch. The food was genuinely delicious, although I still prefer Italian. As I carefully wipe the corners of my mouth, I watch Steven cautiously, bracing for his next move. For several moments, he doesn't do anything. He just sits there and watches me.

Then he stands up and collects something from the serving table at the back before approaching me. I see that he's holding what looks like a shot glass in each hand, and I wonder if he's about to drug me before having his way with me.

"Swish for a full minute," he instructs me, offering one of the glasses, "then spit into the sink."

I accept the glass and empty the contents into my mouth. It's mouthwash, judging by the potent minty flavor. Steven does the same thing with the other glass while Gina collects a third glass to rinse out her own mouth. The three of us swish the mixture around in our mouths while Gina leads the way to the little bathroom, and one by one we spit the contents into the sink.

I guess the Walgrens want my breath fresh before they force me to make out with them.

"Time for the main event." I don't have time to react as Steven pins me to the wall and holds my jaw in his big hand. "And you look like the perfect little lotus flower."

I don't respond verbally. There's no point in complaining about his racially charged language anymore than there is in complaining about the outfit. I'm here to fulfill his fantasies and for his wife to enjoy herself as a spectator.

Steven extends his thumb and uses it to tug at my lower lip. I find him disarmingly attractive, despite already knowing what kind of man he really is, and feeling the proximity of his body to mine is bizarrely exciting even though I'm scared of what he'll do next.

He sticks his thumb into my open mouth, and I suck obediently on his digit while staring into his blue eyes. Gina is standing behind her husband, watching the whole thing with amusement.

"Look at her," Steven coos as if admiring an adorable kitten, "learning to play along."

"Is that not good enough for you?" I keep my tone quiet and demure, but it's a serious question.

"Oh, don't worry," Mr. Walgren assures me, "it's definitely good enough for me."

I continue sucking on his thumb, keeping up the submissive act as his other hand lands on my thigh. He slides his hand inside the thigh split and seeks out my crotch, rubbing his fingers over the fabric of my panties. I try not to wriggle or squirm as he rubs me more aggressively, and I can already feel my underwear getting wet as he pleasures me.

I can see Mrs. Walgren becoming more excited by the show. Her hands have wandered down to the hem of her dress, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as she moves one of her hands under her dress and up to her own panties. Gina pleasures herself while her husband pleasures me for several long minutes and I keep sucking his thumb and enduring his ministrations.

Eventually, Mr. Walgren removes his thumb from my mouth and grips my throat, making sure that I know who's in charge. He keeps his other hand lodged between my thighs, maintaining a firm grip on my pussy as if he's preparing to pick me up by the crotch.

"I went a bit too far when I slapped you last week." It almost sounds like an apology, and the fact that he's admitting it at all shocks me. "And I'm impressed that you fought back."

That almost sounded like a compliment, but I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"So, I promise I won't be too rough with you going forward."

Without warning, Mr. Walgren swoops down and scoops me up. I yelp with surprise and fright as he slings me over his shoulder -- just like the first time he had his way with me. Gina follows him as he carries me to the staircase and ascends the steps to the master bedroom, keeping one arm wrapped around my body and the other hand on my ass.

I'm terrified that he might lose his balance and drop me, but Steven carries me confidently up the steps to the landing, pushing the bedroom door open with one hand. My denim shorts and T-shirt are still neatly folded on the king-size bed, and he drops me unceremoniously onto the bed, scattering my clothes onto the floor.

Gina comes in from behind and removes my clothes from the floor, tossing them onto a spare chair while her husband gets down on his knees and forcibly spreads my legs. He flips the front of my cheongsam up and out of the way to expose my crotch while his wife takes my sneakers away and places them next to the spare chair.

There's already a patch of involuntary wet pleasure in the crotch of my dark panties, and Steven gives a long and eager lick before hooking his fingers under the fabric and tugging them to one side. I bend my head backwards and arch my chest towards the ceiling as I feel his hot breath on my pussy before his wet tongue slides over my labia and clit.

My eyes roll back in my head and my mind flashes back to last Sunday when I masturbated to the memory of him inside me. The palms of his strong hands are pressing against the inside of my thighs, pushing my legs wide open for him to feast on my womanhood.

Steven is gobbling my pussy, smothering my labia with his lips, and sticking his tongue inside my vagina before closing his mouth over my entrance in a moist kiss. I can already feel a bubble of orgasmic pleasure growing in my groin and my breathing is getting heavier.

"She's a lot more compliant this time around," Gina remarks from the corner of the room.

"Good," Steven replies in between mouthfuls of Asian pussy, "she's learning her place."

Sure, keep thinking that, you horny White racist; just as long as you pay off my student debt.

I can see Gina out of the corner of my eye sitting in a big armchair with her legs crossed at the knees, watching intently as her husband performs cunnilingus on a woman half her age. That's fine. As long as he doesn't hit me again, I can bear this. In fact, Steven is intent on licking me to an orgasm, getting my pussy nice and wet before he fucks me.

He flicks his tongue across my clit, causing a moan of pleasure to escape my lips, and making me bite my own tongue out of embarrassment. There's no way Mr. Walgren missed my moan, and I can picture the self-satisfied grin all over his face as he licks and kisses my pussy even more aggressively, determined to force me to climax.

My arousal is growing by the second. The pleasure concentrated in my pussy is spreading into my lower belly, and I'm bucking my hips involuntarily as my body responds to my tormentor's relentless oral stimulation. There's really no point in resisting, but I still want to preserve what little dignity I still have for as long as possible.

Ultimately, I can't resist any longer, and my orgasm hits me like a freight train. I buck my hips up into the air, writhing in the throes of my climax, and gripping the bedsheets as if I can anchor myself to the bed. Mr. Walgren keeps his palms pressed against my inner thighs, holding me in place while continuing to lick my womanhood.

He's hooked his thumb under the fabric of my panties in order to keep them out of the way of his pussy licking. The way he's tugging at my underwear is getting uncomfortable, even as the orgasmic pleasure continues to wrack my groin. I'm trying my best not to moan or cry out, but the more I resist, the harder it is to suppress the sounds of ecstasy escaping my mouth.

Steven abruptly halts the cunnilingus and forces my thighs closed before hooking his fingers under my panties and pulling them down my legs. I cooperate as he removes my only piece of protection from penetration, allowing him to slide the fabric past my knees and ankles before removing them entirely. He presses them against his face and inhales deeply.

"D'you like sniffing young girl's underwear?"

I should know better than to taunt him like that, but the comment slips out of my mouth before my brain can catch up. I'm still lying on my back and Steven is still on his knees with his face only inches away from my crotch, so I can't quite make out the expression on his face, or even the one on Gina's face. There's a fifty-fifty chance that he's either amused or insulted.

"You're not a girl anymore, Grace," Steven growls, forcing my thighs apart once again, "you're a grown woman, and ready to be fucked like one."

He stands up and undoes his belt before dropping his pants. I stay on my back and try to keep my gaze on the ceiling while avoiding the face of the man about to violate me on his marital bed. I feel him press the head of his penis against my engorged labia before pushing inside me.

The sudden fullness in my pussy makes me gasp. He pushes his entire length all the way inside me, his girth stretching my vaginal walls enough to feel uncomfortable, but this time he doesn't pause to ensure I'm accustomed to his size. He starts thrusting right away, making me whimper with each stroke, while holding me by my ankles and lifting my legs into the air.